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TO&FQ: Book 1 - Chapter 37 (RAW)
🕑 Added 2024-12-08 04:02:22 +0000 UTCChapter 37 - Cornelia
“The man who kills the animals today is the man who kills people who get in his way tomorrow.”
- Dian Fossey
Seraphina continued her journey toward the capital, stopping at each major urban center along the way. News of her progress traveled faster than her entourage, ensuring that welcoming parties were already assembled well in advance of her arrival. In each town, mayors hosted lavish receptions, and the local nobility showered her with fine gifts, all for the honor of hearing her sing. The young heir to the Sariens Duchy was effectively cultivating a fan base and group of supporters that bordered on the devout, with some openly declaring that the Goddess herself guided Seraphina’s voice. Though she remained unaware, there was truth to this: the divine influence truly worked through her songs.
Now, halfway along the King’s Highway to Aran, Seraphina and her company approached the town of Jablines. Instead of staying at a fashionable inn, she chose to accept the hospitality of Count Jacques de Viserac. This region, unlike her father’s which was situated along the border, was far less fixated on martial pursuits. Rather than mandatory archery drills or sword-training sessions, local citizens paid a modest surtax to support the Count’s household, allowing them to enjoy a peaceful life at a more leisurely pace.
The Count’s residence was not a grim fortress keep looming over the countryside, but rather an elegant, walled mansion of white stone and graceful lines. Tall windows captured the afternoon sun, and delicate carvings of floral motifs adorned the lintels and doorways. Beyond the mansion’s courtyard lay the Count’s pride and joy: a sprawling rose garden. Neatly tended paths curved through rows of yellow blossoms that glowed like coins in the gentle light. Each rosebush was meticulously pruned to encourage perfect blooms, and small marble benches invited guests to linger and inhale their soft perfume. A tinkling fountain at the center of the garden further enhanced the atmosphere, its waters reflecting the petals’ golden hue. Seraphina found this tranquil haven delightful, and the harmonious beauty of the place resonated with her own sense of aesthetics.
“I must say, Lady Seraphina, that was a truly stellar performance,” complimented the Count, taking a moment to sit at stone bench. “I fancy myself a connoisseur of the arts, but I daresay I have heard a song so pure. I do believe the rumors are true that the Goddess herself has touched your voice.”
Seraphina was both pleased and vaguely annoyed by the compliment. Inwardly, she bristled at the talk that the Goddess was in some way responsible for her song voice. No, it was the fruit of hours of merciless practice with her hateful instructor, a failed diva who had shriveled on the vine, that could produce such a crafted result.
She fixed her face into a semblance of a smile. “Why my Lord Count, you are far too kind. I simply have a little talent with song and music that I wish to share with the people,” she replied, with a small nod of her head in false humility.
Seraphina continued to smile, her composure carefully balanced between courtesy and subtle irritation. The Count, leaning back slightly on the stone bench and rolling his shoulders, allowed himself a moment to admire the blooms of his rose garden before continuing.
“You are far too humble. I must say, Lady Seraphina, this estate is rather quiet compared to the lands you hail from,” he began, gesturing to a neatly trimmed hedge. “Your father’s duchy sits at the border, does it not? I have heard it can be a more turbulent area, though I’m sure the realities are less grim than the tales suggest.”
Seraphina’s gaze drifted momentarily to the rows of yellow roses, glowing softly in the fading light. “Peaceful, my Lord Count. Well relatively so,” she replied, affecting a delicate, measured, and cool tone. The man was trying to pry for information. Very well she would allow it in exchange for a few tidbits in return.
“My father’s holdings are peaceful, but we must remain more vigilant. We guard the frontier with a steady hand. And so far from the capital life can be a little rustic, but it is not without its simple joys. Also, there has been a decline in the quality of living with a certain type of people coming into our domain. My father is busy dealing with them in a suitable manner unique to him,” she continued casually.
The Count nodded thoughtfully, smoothing the front of his elegant doublet. “I suppose vigilance is key,” he mused. “Though I have heard rumors, unsavory rumors that something is afoot in the realm. Riff raff from less than civilized places coming into the kingdom—indeed, just a few weeks back, a large number of men passed through my lands. Someone really has to do something about it. We need fewer foreigners coming in if we are to make Aranthia great again.”
He rubbed at his well-maintained beard. “Traveling south, I believe. Not soldiers of any banner I recognized, yet some of them were armed nonetheless. Mercenaries perhaps, or—”
Before he could complete the thought, his butler appeared at the garden’s edge, black tailcoat catching the last of the sinking sun’s light. A single tap of his well-polished cane on the gravel announced his presence. “My Lord Count, Lady Seraphina,” the man said in measured, respectful tones, “dinner is served. The roast has just reached perfection, and the first course awaits your pleasure.”
“Ah, splendid timing,” Count de Viserac said with a gracious smile. Rising to his feet, he offered Seraphina his arm. “Shall we?” he invited, his earlier line of inquiry momentarily abandoned.
Seraphina accepted the man’s arm, inwardly grimacing at having to accept his touch but relieved to let the matter rest for now. There would be time enough to probe again later.
Together they followed the butler’s measured pace along a paved path lit by lanterns of delicate ironwork. The scent of roses and the distant trickle of the fountain gradually gave way to the warm glow of candlelit corridors. As they approached the main dining hall, she could not help but wonder what the Count truly suspected—and whether his questions were merely small talk or the start of a deeper dance. No matter, there was another, more important thing, on her mind.
Giving her apologies, Seraphina claimed that she needed to see to her appearance in the powder room. Instead, she ascended the stairs toward her private chambers. Halfway up, a strange sound drifted up from below—something metallic and out of place in these refined surroundings.
Peering down, her heart gave a startled lurch. She glimpsed a rag-clad boy, filthy and trembling, his back marred by angry red welts and his ankles bound in pitted iron chains. What on earth was a peasant child doing here? He gave a thin, pitiful cry before several hulking members of the household staff rushed forward and whisked him out of sight.
Ah, so that was the reason the Count had no heirs. It seemed his perversions ran deeper and darker than the elegant veneer he presented to the world. Still, she reminded herself that she was in no position to judge. The man’s proclivities were his own. If the old man’s pleasure lay in tormenting peasants, so be it. The only immediate concern for her was how to turn this discovery to her advantage.
Knowledge like this was a powerful currency. She could wield use it to twist the Count into an ally if ever the need arose. Yes, blackmail might prove quite useful in the future.
Once inside her guest room at the de Viseracs estate, she took a moment to ensure nothing had been disturbed. The mysterious egg—her strange and risky investment, purchased from Lucalle’s Ford—rested beside her bed, kept warm by a steadily burning candle. She strongly suspected it to be a monster’s egg, and she intended to be present at its hatching. According to the rules of the game she knew so well, the creature would imprint on the first living being it encountered.
The egg scraped and scratched more insistently than it ever had during the carriage journey. It was close—she could feel it. If she had to, she would excuse herself from dinner. Missing a dreary meal was a small price to ensure the beast would bond with her.
Of course, if it emerged too monstrous, she would end it without mercy. And as for Gage Barrelmaker, who had sold her this dangerous curiosity—well, she would see him strung up by his ankles and whipped until death was a mercy.
Drawing up a chair she waited.
Seraphina settled into the chair, her heart thrumming with anticipation as the scratching intensified. She leaned close, the last of the sun’s light dancing over her face, and felt the tension in the air crackle. Then, with a gentle crack and a series of minute splintering sounds, the shell parted. A tiny white head—smooth and pearl-like—poked through. She stiffened, hand hovering near her dagger just in case. But what emerged was no monstrous terror. Instead, it was a delicate white snake, barely fifteen centimeters long, its tiny scales shimmering with a soft luminescence.
“Oh my,” she whispered, reaching out slowly. The snake flicked out a long, red-forked tongue, tasting the air and, at last, her skin. Its golden eyes met hers, focusing on something within her. In that moment, something ineffable passed between them—a binding of wills, a silent pact. Seraphina could feel it in the marrow of her bones before a notice flashed across her inner vision.
You have learned Monster Taming (lvl.3)
She had gained a level in monster taming! she exclaimed inwardly.
The snake showed no sign of fear as it flicked its tiny tongue, tasting the air. In fact, it looked positively adorable, with its button-like nose and perfectly rounded head. Soon enough, it set upon the remnants of its shell, crunching quietly, devouring every broken shard. When finished, it lifted its head and looked at her expectantly. Seraphina, still marveling at her beautiful new pet, wondered what it might one day become. Would it grow large and venomous enough to harvest poison from? Venom to tip her knives, perhaps, or to concoct subtle elixirs that guaranteed compliance or death with Eloise’s help? She smiled wickedly to herself, stroking the snake’s smooth head with a single fingertip, cooing to it as she did so.
“I will have to think about a name for you…” she whispered to it in a silly voice that all pet owners use. “How about Cornelia, my little one?”
The small reptile gave a small hiss, perhaps of approval.
Testing its appetite, she held out a small wedge of dried fruit. The snake flicked its tongue once more, then took a neat bite. Surprisingly, it ate the fruit without hesitation. Emboldened, she offered a scrap of tough travel jerky. The snake gobbled that up as well, bobbing its tiny head in what seemed like approval. It was omnivorous then—very unusual indeed. But then again, it had given her a level Monster Taming so she doubted that it was a normal animal.
She would have to make sure that little Cornelia was fed a lot so she would grow up quickly. Was her snake even a female? Did it even matter, the thing was so lovingly cute!
A sharp rap at her door broke the spell. “My lady?” called Miriam, her maid, voice quavering slightly. “Dinner is served, and the Count requests your presence.”
Seraphina’s lip curled slightly. “Tell him I shall be down shortly,” she said, lifting her voice just enough so that Miriam could hear. “He may begin the first course without me.”
“Of course, Lady Seraphina!” her maid squeaked back in answer.
Miriam’s footsteps retreated, and Seraphina turned back to her new pet. The candlelight danced in the snake’s curious eyes, and Seraphina’s mind whirled with new possibilities. The little creature wrapped itself around her arm, its scale feeling supple and smooth. For now, she had a dinner to attend—and she just had to tell everyone about Cornelia! Why today would be more than just a dinner, it would be a birthday party!
